existence.

"Sad stuff makes beautiful poetry, but it's not so pretty to live with." [-Merecat]
*For the Dear Diary Competition*
(I recommend anything beyond 'Tumbling Ash' for the rest is a mess of nonsense words that hold no character, no story and absently fill the page)

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97. Ill Apologies

 

Apologies for no updates however my body decided to become

plagued with laryngitis,

a virus that leaves me with scraps of voice and vomit bubbling in my

stomach.

 

The past days have left me with torn jeans and wet leggings,

sore throats and ice cream spoons,

sad 'okays' and ignorant idiots,

new found friends and chaotic messages

all of which somehow make me smile because my life is just a simple and wasteful mess.

 

I'm left coping with the physical feels of the day that I grabbed at with burnt fingertips,

of how my knee dug into the door in Chemistry

of how my toe stuck through my tights in Drama

of how my hand ached in English

and how his legs felt in Maths.

 

I struggle to think of the day without the events of walking home,

hearing the heavy tread of his footsteps patterned against the echoing grey that reflected

both our moods yet I somehow felt like I was

dancing on those sombre clouds

instead of melting in the rain beneath them.

 

I think of all the dread I felt about this year and how it seemed to slip away

beneath forgotten floorboards as the past

seems to have flown away to join the demons in whatever hell is out there

and although they are revisited in my times of

utter spitefulness,

I pray that the relationships I have structured,

those that are resilient and seem to not wobble,

are not broken by the sledge hammer of my past mistakes and stand tall for

as long as they wish.

 

-11th January 2016

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